Of Gods and Men
by seaglasssoul
Summary: Noragami prompt/drabble collection.
1. Some Kind Of Proof

A/N: A tumblr user wanted some self-indulgent fluff based on the Paramore lyrics, "I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up/leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream." I hope this hits the spot!

* * *

Raindrops lazily slide down the glass pane of Hiyori's bedroom window, their soft staccato rhythm hypnotic in the late afternoon gloom. Yato stares at her ceiling while he waits for her to come home, eyes half lidded as he lets the rain count out the seconds until she's back. But should he even see her? Sure, she'd said he'd always been her god of fortune, but what if she was wrong? What if she was just she was just being her kind, resilient, compassionate self, and he was actually hurting her in his selfish unwillingness to cut their ties? Closing his eyes completely, he rolls onto his side in the fetal position and tries not to think about the times he's almost gotten her killed. Or worse.

Of course, that's all he can think about now. He sees her face, twisted in worry and concern, when she and Kazuma ran to his side during his battle with Bishamon. Sees her leaping after an ayakashi, intending to land a side kick but leaving her cord wide open to attack; doesn't she understand how vulnerable it makes her? It would only take one clean hit, one sluggish reaction for his world to shatter all over again. Memories of the hospital haunt him next, the way Hiyori shoved him away, half-ayakashi claws blighting him for the first time since they met. He'll never forget her tear-stained face as she hovered over him, fighting desperately to regain sense of herself while he resigned himself to either dying by her hand or reaching her with words. Thank goodness the words were enough.

Sighing, he flops onto his back again and rubs his face. She's done so much for him and he's done so comparatively little for her; there's gotta be some way he can make it up to her. She's saved him so many times: brought Kazuma to Yukine's ablution, stopped him from killing Bishamon, summoned his soul from the Underworld before he was lost to it for good, built him the shrine that granted him access to Takamagahara and got him one step closer to his dream. The shrine she built with those strong hands, hands that are always so warm when they grab his shoulder or brush his cheek.

An idea blooms in his mind, a small way for him to show his gratitude for the girl who has stridden with such purpose into his heart. His face aches with the force of his smile as he jumps off her bed to gather the necessary materials. She's _definitely_ gonna like this!

* * *

Water drips from her umbrella like a beaded curtain as she walks home from school, anger at Fujisaki still smoldering in her gut. It's been bad enough seeing him around school after what he did to her family, did to her, but that smarmy little smile of his makes her want to wring his neck. Smug jerk. Huffing exasperatedly, Hiyori kicks the nearest trash can to release some of her rage and sends it tumbling down the alley, the metal banging reviving a different memory of a similar situation.

She lets the gentle drumbeat of the rain transport her back to when she was standing at the mouth of an alley just like this one, umbrella extended to cover her petulant god of calamity. How silly he is to think she'd forget him! Sure, she'd messed up once before, but now that she knows what she's up against nothing will keep her from holding his memory close to her heart. It's funny how quickly that silly, lazy, kind god has made himself such an important part of her life; the time she's spent with him these past few months shines like a beacon in her memories. Smiling, she continues her walk home, thinking maybe she should call or text him to see how he's been doing. Ever since he and Yukine helped her grandmother feel more at ease about the shinigami drifting closer, he's been in touch more often than he'd been after that stint at the hospital. He's still reluctant to show up more than once or twice a week, though, for fear of attracting his father's attention. Her heart clenches in pain and embarrassment that she could lose control like that, hurt him like that, and she vows to become stronger to protect him.

Her parents aren't home again, which doesn't surprise her given the amount of cleanup they have to do to keep the hospital from going under. She's determined as she walks upstairs to her room, planning to do as much studying as possible so she can help them get everything back on track. It's not fair that they have to deal with the consequences of a mess she helped cause.

All thoughts of studying promptly leave her mind, though, when she opens her door.

"What...what is this?" she asks, schoolbag sliding unnoticed to the ground while she looks around the altered landscape of her bedroom.

What used to be empty floor space is now covered in a veritable blanket _castle,_ chairs and cushions piled high to support a network of quilts and bedsheets. From her spot by the door, she can see inside one of the entrances to what looks like a mini bedroom, a nest of soft pillows surrounding a puffy sleeping bag. Did Yato just dig around the house for fluffy things? On the very top of the structure flies a tiny flag, sporting his trademark crown and the words, "In the name of Hiyori."

"Hi, Hiyori!" Yato chirps from the other side of her bed, tying the ends of two blankets together. "I was just thinking about how much you've done for me over the past few months and I wanted to repay you somehow. So, welcome to Hiyori's Shrine!"

 _He made her a shrine?_ Looking more closely at the design of the blanket fort, she can see how it mimics the shrine she'd spent all night carving so many weeks ago, tips of her fingers becoming so numb she hadn't felt it when they'd bled. It has the peaked roof and double doors made from pillows, and, sure enough, there's a little snow puff Yukine and winky-faced Yato taped to the back on notebook paper.

Laughing, Hiyori says, "But Yato, I can't have a shrine; those are only for gods and goddesses."

Pinking slightly, he scratches his face and replies, "Well, I mean, gods and goddess grant people's wishes, right? You've granted so many of mine that it's gotta make you an honorary goddess. Or something."

It's Hiyori's turn to blush. Does he really believe she's comparable to a goddess, a being of such divine strength and beauty? When she meets his gaze, something like reverence flickers through electric blue eyes and she thinks that maybe he actually _does._ "Ah, well, you've helped me out a ton, too," she mumbles, still embarrassed that he holds her in such high esteem.

Calloused hands take one of hers and she looks up, startled that he's closed the distance between them so quickly. "But you've saved me," he murmurs, sincerity making his eyes glow like sunlight on deep ocean water. "Saved me so many times. This is the least I could do. Now c'mon, let me give you a tour of your shrine. And of course, I'll be your loyal familiar!"

Smiling, she lets herself be tugged down to duck through the quilted flap that leads to inside of her shrine, hand warm as it's cradled in his. Soft lights twinkle on the ceiling from a string of Christmas lights Yato wove through supporting chairs, and it doesn't escape Hiyori how intimate this is. There's a single sakura blossom on the pillow at the head of the sleeping bag, petals still beaded with rain, and her heart swells as she realizes how hard it must have been for him to pick it for her. Maybe one day they can mourn his former shinki properly.

"Well, whaddya think?" His muted voice cuts through her thoughts, so close his breath tickles her face. Those catlike eyes are searching her face, and it hits her that he's worried he's overstepped his bounds.

"It's lovely, Yato," she whispers, free hand coming up smooth the wrinkle in his brow. "Thank you so much."

Cheeks aflame, he looks away and mutters, "Ah, yeah, you know. Just wanted to do something nice."

"It's very nice," she agrees, stopping to stifle a yawn. It had been a long day between Fujisaki and general stress about the hospital.

"Oh, are you tired? I thought you might be since you've been up late studying so much these days. Here, let's get you all tucked in; can't do much homework when your brain is sleepy."

Before she can protest, Yato is ushering her along the floor to the turned down sleeping bag and opening the flap. "In you go!"

"But-I'm not-now _really_ Yato hold on!" She tries to pull her hand away but only succeeds in tugging his whole body closer, the added weight tipping them backwards to crash into the pillows surrounding the sleeping bag. There's a beat of silence as they look at each other, faces inches apart, hearts thumping wildly, until Hiyori blushes and pushes his chest back.

"S-sorry," she says, hand still on his chest. Is his pulse always this quick?

"Ah, no, I'm sorry. Here, let's try that again." He gestures to the sleeping bag and Hiyori knows an exit from an awkward situation when she sees it. Nodding, she crawls the last couple feet to the slippery fabric and eases herself inside, lying on her side facing the opposite wall. A shiver runs through her entire body as she replays the last 60 seconds, how her face looked reflected in eyes that were overflowing with _something_ she dares not name, how fast his heart raced beneath the fabric of his shirt. They're so close, he's right there, and she doesn't know if she can handle being drowned in his heady smell any longer.

A jersey'd arm wraps around her waist and she squawks, "Yato! What are you doing?"

Right next to her ear, his voice whispers, "You were shivering. That means you're cold, right? Thought I'd help warm you back up." The way he says it reminds Hiyori of a child confused about why he can't have a sleepover with his older sister and her boyfriend, and lets the issue slide. He's just trying to be helpful, and she _was_ shivering. No need for him to know he's the reason. "It's fine. Just-just don't move around too much, okay?" He hums his assent and snuggles closer to her, head resting near the crook of her neck while he tightens his grip on her waist ever so slightly.

Forget cold, she's _burning_ now, his every exhale raising goosebumps on the skin of her neck while the heat from his chest radiates through her back and makes her feel like combusting. After a few minutes, though, she gets used to way he holds her somewhat possessively, pressing her to his chest as if he were trying to imprint her on his soul. The thought makes her blush, and she mentally scoffs at herself. As if they were anything more than friends…

His arm twitches on her stomach as he starts to withdraw it, and Hiyori instinctively presses it back down. The question is apparent from the hitch in his breath, so Hiyori preemptively answers, "Don't go yet." The weight of her responsibilities hangs heavy over her head as she continues, "I just-I just don't want to be alone right now."

Suddenly she's being crushed to his chest, the arm across her waist having rolled her to face him so he can wrap both arms around her back. "You'll never be alone if you don't wanna be, Hiyori. Not as long as I'm here." Gentle hands rubs small circles into her shoulder blades and she lets herself melt at his touch, burrowing into the space between his neck and shoulder, lips resting on his pulse. Every _thump_ of his heartbeat calms her, and it's not long before she's struggling to keep her eyes open in his warm embrace.

Faintly, she hears, "Sleep, Hiyori," which makes her struggle to organize her thoughts, lost as they are in this pleasant haze. "How will I know you'll be here when I wake up?" she murmurs, words hard to form when her lips graze his neck.

There's silence for a beat before he removes his hands from her back and gently detaches her from his chest. She barely has time to complain before something warm and soft is being draped around her neck, Yato's nimble fingers completing the knot at the back of her head. "There, see? You know I'd never leave my fluffy-fluff scarf behind."

It's all she can do not to bury her face in it, the tattered fabric still warm from where it had rested around his neck. She's heard the rants and lectures about how important the fluffy-fluff is to him and knows he wouldn't part with it unless it were absolutely necessary. It's a gesture of trust, she realizes belatedly, a promise in the form of threadbare cotton.

"Now c'mon, go to sleep. You've earned it." He's pulling her back into the crook of his neck and dragging a blanket over the two of them, his head resting gently atop hers. The urge to sleep is overwhelming and she lets it tow her towards unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge he's not going anywhere.

Hours later, she wakes cocooned in Yato's arms with his fluffy-fluff scarf pushed up her face like a ski mask. His breath is deep and even, and when she tentatively moves her hand on his chest to wiggle out of his embrace, he grumbles and pulls her closer. Well, that's fine then. Closing her eyes, she snuggles into his chest, the dual rhythm of his heartbeat and the rain lulling her back to sleep.


	2. No More

A/N: Content warnings: Depression and suicide. Another tumblr Floor Squad special inspired by art from eerna.

* * *

When a god has a wish, who grants it?

Wind curls softly through branches dusted with freshly bloomed cherry blossoms, the leaves surrounding them fluttering gently as a breeze passes through. A few petals float lazily towards the ground, one landing in the crease between Yato's lips. It barely registers, like a mosquito buzzing just on the edge of hearing, but then nothing really registers anymore. He's drifting, like a blade of grass balancing on the surface tension of a stream, and he's just waiting for that small wave to take him under. Exhaustion seeps deep into his bones, leaking out to make his muscles jelly and his mind stutter like an engine that won't quite start.

Ever since his father held him captive for that month he almost lost Hiyori, ever since his trip to the Underworld, ever since _the hospital_ , life has seemed a little less bright, a little more pointless. He's had a lot of time to think in the weeks after he almost singlehandedly ruined Hiyori's life, nearly made her into the kind of monster he was, and he's starting to think that the world would be better off if she had just slit his throat on that rooftop. He wouldn't stop her if she tried, now. Some days of his self-enforced quarantine rub across his raw emotions like sandpaper; anxiety that she'll forget about him has him dry heaving into bushes, fingers digging into his knees while he coughs and waits for the next round of stomach-twisting nausea. Other days, resigned apathy sits heavy on his chest, thoughts of 'you're running away from the problem' and 'she'll never love you now' barely comprehensible in the hazy swamp of his mind. Soon he comes to relish the fear clawing at his throat because it means numbness is close behind. One day, the numbness never leaves.

It's here now, coating his heart in thick layers of lethargy as he replays the scene from the hospital over and over again in his mind, burning the desperate anguish in her voice, as she howled at him to end her life, into his soul. What a fool he is for thinking he could ever love her like she deserves. What a fool he is for thinking she could ever love _him._

Because at the end of the day, he's nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer playing house with gods who never have, and never will, accept him. Just a god who tried to do well by his first human follower in eons, but only ended up endangering her fragile life while her spirit sprinted closer and closer to the far shore. Pressure begins to build slowly in his chest, constricting his heart and his lungs as he comes to a devastating realization: there is no happily ever after, not for them. Not for a human who will die as surely as the sun will rise, not for a god who has already lived through the agony of losing a piece of his soul. If she, by some miracle, did come to love him, what would it matter? Sure, they'd have a few decades together in bliss, but then what? He'd stand there, ageless, as her eyes clouded over and her bones became weak and brittle, until her hand would still in his as he watched her breathe her last breath.

It's unacceptable. As unacceptable as it would be to selfishly bind her soul to his when she passes just to keep her close, because she wouldn't truly be his Hiyori, not anymore. She'd have the same hair and face and body, but this wouldn't be the same Hiyori who pushed him out of the way of a bus, who carried him to Kofuku's house while her skin fizzled with blight, who called him from the Underworld on breathless lips to cradle in her arms until he woke up. All memories of their time together would be wiped from her mind, only to resurface when her body writhed and burst open to reveal her karma inside if he ever let slip the only name he's ever known for her. There's no way he could stomach _naming her_ when she's Hiyori, can only _be_ Hiyori, and the thought of looking into those deep brown eyes only to see the placid politeness of a stranger leaves him bereft. He'd never again be able to let her name roll softly off his tongue, never again get to reminisce about the quiet moments they'd shared while static danced between the spaces of their fingertips walking home together, never again see her look at him with such soul-deep intimacy as she cups his cheek and reminds him he can change.

If only he could cut his own ties, erase his own memories. How nice it'd be to live in blissful ignorance instead of this constant dull ache that's burrowed its way into his chest, polluting his veins with apathy and inadequacy by turn. He's tired, so damn tired, and as he stares at the sky through a mosaic of cherry blossoms, something quietly snaps within him. It's not a feeling per se, more of a sensation, like the small _pop_ when a bath plug is pulled and the water drains until there's nothing left, and then he's floating towards the sky. Another cherry blossom lands on his face, breaking the spell and causing him to plummet back to Earth, and he just wants _out_ of this skin that can only touch Hiyori's so ephemerally, wants out of this miserable existence scrounging for wishes to grant when he can't even fulfill his own.

The sun slants low in the sky, barely kissing the tops of the distant trees beneath a watercolor sunset, when Yato makes his decision. Idly, he thinks that maybe he should give it more thought or give himself more time, but then the ache in his chest becomes a black hole, devouring every thought other than _sleep._ This numbness is almost enough to make him think he could do it, could stumble on with shaking breaths and fevered thoughts, but he knows it won't last. It never does. Rolling to his knees, he makes a mental list of what he needs to get before midnight. Goodbyes are always harder when they're drawn out.

Hours later, he finally hops into the tree next to Hiyori's bedroom window, wearily rapping on the window pane to get her attention. It doesn't matter what he promised himself he would or wouldn't do after the hospital; he's a new person now, with a new goal in mind. Hopefully she won't immediately turn him away, though after everything he's done to her, it wouldn't be surprising.

She appears at the window with a kaleidoscope of emotion in her eyes, brown hair falling over her shoulders as she leans over to undo the latch. "Yato, is everything okay..?" She trails off at his blank expression, eyes darting behind him before meeting his gaze again. "Where's Yukine?"

He breathes in.

" _You're going to do WHAT?" Yukine looked at him, a mixture of confusion, anger, and fear twisting his features into a grimace._

 _It shouldn't be this easy. The thought floated by serenely in his head, gently nodding in his direction as it floated right on out of his head. It shouldn't be this easy, but he shouldn't have fallen in love with a human, either. "I'm going to release you, Yukine," he repeated, voice surprisingly even. Something in the back of his head says he should be upset, angry, anything other than this vague indifference, but the thought is soon swept away by the insidious fog in his mind._

" _That's bullshit!" Yukine spat, taking a step closer. "Why are you saying this? What happened? Why won't you talk to me?" His voice cracked on the last word, and even through the white noise crackling in Yato's head, Yukine's despair leaked through the bond and scratched at his ribcage with barbed claws._

 _Why_ wouldn't _he say this? He'd been a sham, a menace, a walking disaster for so long, he's surprised it took himself this long to come to this conclusion. But he's tired, oh so tired, and there's not enough energy left in his brittle bones and worn out heart to give a proper answer. "It's better this way," was all he could muster, blue eyes dull as they met Yukine's. "Better for you, better for me, better for the world."_

 _Yukine was at a loss for words, clearly struggling to process that Yato was serious. "But,_ that's BULLSHIT, _I thought-" He sucked in a deep breath, releasing it shakily before continuing, "Hiyori said I was your one and only weapon, that I was unique. You said you were happy with me, so why..?" Sinking to the ground, Yukine curled in on himself, whispering, "What did I do wrong? I thought we were finally happy, the three of us. I-I thought we were a family."_

 _Something like regret echoed distantly in the muffled corners of his mind, but it was too late to go back. His mind was made up, and he knew it was for everyone's benefit. This was for the greater good._

" _I'm sorry," was all he could say, raising his hand while a bubble of blue light collected at his fingertips. Fear gurgled in Yukine's throat as he cried, "Wait," stumbling towards Yato with panicked eyes, tripping as he went and scrambling along the ground instead. "Please," he choked, tears streaming down his face as they had during his ablution, "I thought you were different, I thought we were a team!" Looking up from the ground at Yato's feet, he sobbed, "Don't leave me alone in the dark." A wave of despair flooded the bond, but it was too late; the words were falling out of Yato's mouth, and Yukine stung him just one last time before his soul was separated from Yato's, the character of his name floating off his skin to shatter in front of his outstretched hand._

 _Sighing, Yato said, "You'll be much happier with Kazuma and Bishamon. They'll take care of you much better than I ever could have."_

 _The boy who was once Yukine openly wept, rocking back and forth on the ground while his small frame was wracked by full-body sobs. "But I don't want them," he garbled, standing up to throw a punch at Yato. "I was_ happy _with you! I finally_ belonged _somewhere, and now-now I don't belong_ anywhere _. We could have helped you, we could_ still _help you, why won't you let us?!" His fist fell weakly from his latest attempt to hit Yato, and Yato took the opportunity to swiftly knock the boy in the back of the head. He wilted like an unwatered flower, crumpling to the ground in pile of unfulfilled promises._

" _I'm so sorry," Yato whispered above his unconscious form, memories of when he first named the boy cutting him like a thousand razor blades as he remembered the abuse his real father inflicted. "I guess I was a pretty terrible dad, too, huh? Maybe third time's the charm." Bending down to hoist his former weapon's unconscious body over a shoulder, Yato reached into his pocket to retrieve Hiyori's shrine. Kazuma will take good care of the boy, and Yato needed to borrow something from Bishamon's manor. He glanced at his unconscious face one more time, no longer feeling the steady thrum of power and emotion that used to connect them, wondering with a small pang of regret what his new name will be. It's not like he'll be there to hear it, though, so he focused his energy on the shrine and stepped into the nothingness between worlds._

Yato breathes out. "He's resting with Kazuma," he answers shortly, brushing past Hiyori to sit on her bed, comfortable in the numbness that permeates his body like stuffing in a doll.

Large, concerned eyes peer into his as she joins him on the bed, sitting on the edge so she can turn and face him behind her. "Are you sure everything's okay?" she asks, a gentle hand coming up to trace his jawline. "You seem really out of it."

Her fingers are like fire along the ice of his composure, and he feels the walls of his indifference begin to tremble. "Yeah, it's fine. I just-wanted to come say hi before I go hunt some ayakashi." Extra lies don't really matter now, do they? It's not like she'll remember them, anyway.

Worry lines still crease her forehead as she turns away from him, murmuring, "Okay then." The sadness in her tone is the first real crack in his armor, small bits of emotion spurting through like hairline fissures in an aquarium. Unbidden, his right hand wraps around her waist and he pulls her close, the warmth and smell of her like sunlight in the darkness of his mind. The weight of what he's about to do, has already started doing, crushes him then, slowly but surely, and he deflates against her back, throat tight as the first real wave of emotion he's felt in weeks chokes him. But Hiyori is so sturdy, so strong, and his left hand reaches under her arm to clutch her shoulder, the feeling of her pulse under his fingertips proof that despite him, she's alive and well. He's greedy, though, always has been, and she is his oasis. Nuzzling over her shoulder near the crook of her neck, he feels more than hears her sigh contentedly, and that is his undoing. Tears well in the corner of his eyes as the numbness is ripped away, leaving pain and regret and sorrow to run screaming through his veins. The hand on her shoulder tightens as wave after wave of repressed agony tears through his body, a small tremor starting in his hands that is soon stilled by Hiyori's hand firm on top of his own.

"Yato, just so you know, I'm not going anywhere." Her promise wraps around his heart like garotte wire, but instead of throttling life out of him, it burns new meaning into his existence, meaning he doesn't want, now that he's made up his mind.

It's hard to breathe. "I know," he rasps, struggling to speak past the lump in his throat. "But I am."

There's a knock on the window and Yato hovers over her shoulder for another heartbeat, pressing his lips down in the ghost of a kiss before sliding off the bed to answer the knock.

As expected, it's Tenjin and Mayu, looking somber when they climb through the window.

"Tenjin? Mayu? What's going on?" Hiyori asks, concern fluttering across her features.

Glancing at Yato, Tenjin says, "We've come here to cut your ties, Hiyori. We heard what happened at the hospital and agree with Yato that this is the best way to ensure you and your family stay safe. You've played with gods for long enough. It's time to form tighter bonds with the Near Shore." Mayu gives Hiyori a sad smile and shakes her head, conveying her attempts to stop Tenjin in a few simple gestures.

"But, you can't! This is my choice to make!" Hiyori says, looking horrified as she searches each of their faces for any sign that her words are getting through.

"That's just it, Miss Iki; this isn't just about you. More and more innocent people are getting sucked into this mess with the conjurer, and as gods who must protect the greater good, we can't have humans interfering in celestial matters. I'm sorry, but this must be done."

Predictably, heartbreakingly, she looks to him, hope beading like dew in her eyes when she quietly says, "You'll stop them, won't you?"

It's all he can do right now to meet her gaze without flinching, the intensity of her soul blinding. He's taken advantage of her light for too long; it's time to set her free. "I won't," he says, even though the darkness that has coated his thoughts begins to slough off under her steady gaze. "Goodbye, Hiyori. Thanks for everything." It's too cold inside him; he'd sap her warmth before it could properly nurture her soul. She'll find someone better to share her life with. Taking a deep breath, he summons the ties that bind them, running his fingers through the ethereal threads one final time.

Before she could do more than yell, "Yato!" and lunge for him, Tenjin had Mayu in her pipe form and was slashing her down through the swirling bonds, severing them cleanly. Yato watches Hiyori's eyes dim as she falls towards him, unconscious because of the strain on her spirit, and that tortured look on her face before the ties were cut make him so glad he'll be joining her in amnesia soon.

Tenderly, he scoops her up from the floor and carries her to her bed, the indent where they sat together moments ago still clearly imprinted on the comforter. Soon, even that evidence that she knew him would be gone. Gazing at her sleeping face, a face that no longer knows his, he quietly mourns the loss of his first and best human friend. Thoughts of 'she was more than that' whisper deep beneath the writhing ball of tangled hurt that is burning through his stomach like he'd swallowed molten lead. It's too late now, it's always been too late; gods and men are not meant to fall in love. Brushing her hair out of her face, he leans down to press a kiss to her forehead, savoring the softness of her skin beneath his lips. Seeing her bare neck gives him an idea, a way to stay with her even when he's no longer of this shore, and fumbling hands untie his fluffy-fluff scarf. Delicately, reverently, he wraps it around her neck, nestling it deep into the crooks of her shoulders so that she'll know how much she was loved. It's just a love that cannot be, and the reminder sends a wave of bone-crushing sadness sweeping through him. But he can't let it paralyze him, not yet, and so he turns around to thank Tenjin and Mayu for their help.

Mayu looks at him worriedly, a question in her eyes, but Tenjin doesn't want to spend more time in a human's house uninvited than necessary and hurries her out of the room. They have no business being here anymore. With a final glance at her sleeping frame, Yato hops quietly out of her window, the finality of its closing creak just another bullet hole in his tattered heart. He'd been numb for so long that the sudden influx of feeling left him with a different kind of numbness, the distorted reality of the world immediately after a lightning strikes, and he just wants to rest.

Hopping down from her tree, he slumps against its familiar trunk as the will to move leaves him. That's fine; here will do. He reaches into his pocket to remove a small knife covered in fine cracks gilded with reds and golds. It's an artifact from Bishamon's manor, the same type of weapon Aiha used to attack him when she was under Kugaha's influence before the battle with Bishamon. A cursed weapon, one that can kill gods, and Yato sighs as he feels its weight in his hand. Soon, he can rest.

His jacket and plain white shirt come off easily without the fluffy-fluff in the way, and his hands only tremble a little as they hold the knife blade to his chest. He supposes he should feel less relieved, less excited about the prospect of reincarnation given that he doesn't know if he'll actually be reincarnated, but he doesn't care either way. This life has fought him, tested him, and broken him; he's more than happy to dissapear now. His only regret is Yukine, who will remain burdened with the memories of both Yato and Hiyori, but Yato has faith in Kazuma and Bishamon to raise him well. Besides, Yukine has always been such a strong soul; he'll make plenty of friends and serve a god with a much purer soul. The tip of the blade sinks into his chest, grounding him, and he takes a final deep breath before using all of his godly strength to plunge the weapon deep into his heart.

Fiery pain lances through his chest and stomach as he drags the blade down towards his opposite hip, blinding him with sheer agony as the cursed weapon sets every nerve in his body on fire. He can't breathe, the pain so staggering his lungs stutter. But, ah, yes, there's the light. He reaches for it with all his might, eager to shed this too heavy body with its unfulfilled promises, and as he feels his spirit ascending, he imagines he sees Hiyori's cord flicker in the corner of his eye. Closing his eyes, he sighs his final breath, her name on his cooling lips an apology and a prayer. Maybe in their next life, they'll find happiness.


	3. Endless Numbered Days

A/N: First Kazubisha drabble from a co-opted Yatori tumblr prompt for "Please, don't leave."

* * *

She's never left him alone before.

Blood pounds in his ears as he sprints through the hall of the gods, eyes rolling in their sockets while he looks for her telltale hair, fine like spun gold.

He should know. He's the only one allowed to touch it.

Faster and faster he runs down the nearest corridor, heart beating a frantic rhythm in his chest while he searches. _Where where where could she be-?_

A door clicks at the end of the hall, barely audible above his ragged breathing. Something tugs at his heart and he moves on instinct, not caring that he doesn't know where he's going or where he is. All that matters is that she's safe.

Bursting through the door, he catches a glimpse of sun-blonde hair disappearing around a corner and cries out, " _Viina!_ "

When he approaches her, she's motionless, back to him, one hand on the wall. Foreboding fills him up like morning fog, soft and swift and insidious. She never leans on anything.

Except him.

"Viina...where are you going?" A swift assessment of her bodily well-being takes into account her clothing, light for travel and ease of movement. None of the other _shinki_ are with her.

"Somewhere I must." She doesn't turn to face him, but something in her posture hunches over, as if it were paining her to speak with him. The thought tears him apart.

"Then let me come with you. You'll need someone to watch your back."

He can almost hear the sad smile in her voice. "I'm not going somewhere that will be necessary."

"Please...don't leave," he whispers, fingers curling into fists at his side. "Please, Viina, let me _help_ you-"

"You can help me by remaining safe. Go back to the others." Her first step stutters like a puppet's string being pulled in opposite directions; the second is slow but sure; by the third, she's found her stride. He can't help but feel like he's missing something essential, like this is his last chance to say the magic words that will change her mind and bring her back, but all he can do is watch her walk away.

"Promise me you'll call if you're in danger!" he blurts, his frenzied brain finally catching up to the moment.

(Later, much later, when the red-flecked nightmares stalk him in broad daylight, he'll realize he never got to see her face.)

Her hand tightens on the door handle. "Of course."


	4. Love Is Not A Victory March

A/N: This is a product of seeing eerna's art on tumblr and becoming a glass case of emotion. Floor squad is back at it again.

* * *

"Hey, Hiyori. If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where wouldja wanna go?"

Sighing over homework that she's clearly not going to finish tonight, Hiyori leans back in her chair and looks at the ceiling. "I don't know. Paris, maybe, for some pastries; I could go for a snack after all this studying."

"Really? You're hungry? Okay, let's go!" Yato hops up from her bed where he had cocooned himself in her comforter all afternoon while she'd _tried_ to get some work done. But it's hard to concentrate when his overwhelming scent is so close.

"Wait, go where- _Yato_!" He grabs her hand while he takes out his phone, and suddenly her room disappears in a flash of bright light to be replaced by a narrow stone alley.

"Yato, what the-" She stops when she realizes it's light outside; it had been close to 20:00 when Yato asked where she wanted to go. "Where-?"

"You said you wanted to go to Paris for some sweets, so here we are!" His smile falters a bit when he sees her face. "I mean, uh, we can go back if you don't like it. I guess I did kinda just zap us here, but I wanted to do something special for you so-"

"Special? Is it a holiday or something?" Hiyori asks curiously. Sure, Yato likes to... _dote_ on her a bit, but taking her halfway across the planet for some cake? It's excessive, even for him.

Something writhes behind his eyes before he laughs it off, all goofy smiles and a lighthearted arm around her shoulders once more. "Nah, I thought we could have some fun, just the two of us. You're my first follower after all - that earns you a reward!"

He leads her out of the alley onto a busy street, an arm still draped across her shoulders. Hiyori lets the foreign chatter wash over her, and it suddenly hits her that she has no way of understanding what they're saying. "But Yato, I don't speak French!"

"No worries! They can't see us anyway." He points to the tail swishing agitatedly behind her, and she realizes he must have just taken her spirit along for the ride. At least her desk chair is comfy enough for her poor body.

"But how will we pay? I don't have any euros."

He grins. "You just let me handle that."

They approach a cute bakery as they walk, little tarts and pastries lining the glass window. Hiyori has to peer past Yato, who is extra clingy today and _still_ gripping her shoulder, to get a look at what they offer.

Catching her glance, Yato asks, "Wanna get something here?"

She turns her head to reply, mouth parted and words on the tip of her tongue, when she notices he has turned to face her. Noses inches apart, she's staring into ice blue eyes roiling with something like regret. "Yato?" she whispers, enthralled by how her breath on his lips makes him shiver. "Is everything okay?"

His features contort for the barest moment, like paper crinkling into a ball, before that megawatt smile is back and he releases her shoulder to open the bakery door. "Of course! After you, mademoiselle."

Uncertain, Hiyori walks inside, replaying the tortured look on Yato's face. Was it her imagination that he seemed so broken?

"What do you want? It's on me." Yato came to stand beside her, their shoulders almost touching. She catches herself wishing that he'd move close enough so that they were.

Such thoughts are too distracting, though, and she stutters, "Um, how about that little chocolate cake?"

"Your wish is my command!" With the dexterity of a cat, Yato vaults over the counter and grabs a chocolate cake, dropping some yen coins and a small note onto the counter. The store person looks bemused for a second while his eyes glaze over Yato's retreating frame, then shakes his head and helps the next customer in line.

"Yato, that's practically stealing!" Hiyori cries, trying to see how much money Yato left. He could have at least teleported to a bank to exchange money or something!

"Relax, I left more than enough. Here, let's take a seat." He gestures to a small wrought iron table just outside the bakery and plops down into one of the chairs. Once Hiyori sits, still grumbling about exchange rates, he hands her the palm-sized cake, dark chocolate ganache gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "I hope you like it."

Tentatively, she takes a bite. It's rich and moist and perfectly dense, the slight bitterness of the dark chocolate offset by the sweetness of the cake. Humming happily, she notices Yato staring at her lips. "Would you like a bite?"

"Ah, no. I mean, it looks good, but you have a little..." He gestures to the corner of his mouth while still looking at hers.

"Oh!" she squeaks, embarrassed. Scrubbing at her face, she asks, "Did I get it?"

"No, it's right here." He leans across the table and gently smoothes his thumb across her bottom lip, the palm of his hand cupping her cheek in the process. She desperately forces down the full-body shudder threatening to rattle her out of her bones; has he always been this warm?

Pink-cheeked, he withdraws his hand, chocolate smudged thumb on display. "Got it."

"R-right, thanks." _Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush._

"Hiyori? You feeling okay? Your face is all red."

 _Crap._

"Ah, yeah, I'm just a little stressed from all that studying," she says, forcing out a strangled laugh. "I'll be fine after a little sleep."

With a frown, Yato glances at his cell phone and wiggles his fingers, counting. "That's right! It's late back where you live! Not to worry, I'll get you back in a jiffy." Once again, he grabs her hand and flips open his phone, the metropolitan scenery around them becoming her bedroom in a flash of white light.

She still has the cake in her hand. "Are you sure you don't want any? It's really good."

His hand on her shoulder tightens briefly. "Nah, it's for you. Enjoy."

"...Okay."

There's really only another bite or so left anyway, and as she licks her lips she remembers the feeling of Yato's thumb running across them. _Get it together girl; save the flustered act for when he's gone._

With a deep, cleansing breath, Hiyori falls back into her body, groaning a bit at the stiffness in her back from lying limp on the chair for an hour. She ducks into the bathroom to change into her pajamas with a small wave signifying that she'll just be a minute. Her heart beats painfully when she closes the door, that slinking fear that he'll be gone again when she reopens it whispering _you're just a human; why would a god bother staying friends with_ you?

But there he is when she walks back in, same goofy smile on his face, and she lets herself relax. He's proven time and time again that he's not going anywhere; maybe she can start to believe it.

A giant yawn suddenly cracks her jaw with its intensity, and she's barely closed her mouth before Yato springs to her bed to pull back the covers. "Sounds like it's time for sleep," he says, fluffing her pillows and patting the mattress enticingly.

Turning the lights out on her way, Hiyori crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to her chin. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, she can make out Yato's form close to the edge of the bed. He usually leaves once she's under the covers, and she's about to ask him about it when he murmurs, "D'you mind if I stay with you 'til you fall asleep?"

She blinks. "Um, okay. Are you _sure_ everything's all right?"

His face is cloaked in shadow, but his voice is as strong as ever. "Yeah, completely fine. I just wanted to spend a little extra time with you today is all."

Something about his behavior today still makes her uneasy, but as another yawn stretches her face, she resolves to ask him about it later. _There's always tomorrow._

A little while later, as she's just about to fall asleep, Hiyori registers a presence near her head. Cracking an eye open, she sees it's Yato, eyes glistening in the moonlight as he hovers above her. Before she can collect her thoughts to ask him what he's doing, he leans in and kisses the corner of her mouth, lips soft and trembling.

"I missed some chocolate," he whispers, tracing the curve of her cheek with a hand. But then he's gone, the quiet _thump_ of her window closing somehow unsettling.

While her exhausted brain struggles to process that _he_ _just kissed her_ , the rest of her floats on a sea of warmth and tenderness, that simple action clarifying her own affectionate feelings for him. She considers calling him, asking him if it meant what she thinks it means, but decides against it. Her head is still spinning, and besides:

There's always tomorrow.

* * *

It was only a matter of time.

Hopping out of Hiyori's window, Yato lands at the base of the nearby tree. Goodbyes have never been his strong suit, but he thinks he pulled this one off all right. He brushes his lips with a finger, trying to memorize the warmth and taste of her lips.

Not that he'll have memories for long.

As expected, Kazuma is waiting for him in front of Hiyori's house, looking haggard under the street light with smudged glasses and dark circles under his eyes.

"Did you get to do everything you wanted?" he asks, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. "This was the longest Viina could push back the sentencing." His hand falls to his side, defeated. "I didn't think they'd actually convict you. The murder of the Ma clan was centuries ago, and Viina testified _on your behalf_ -!"

Yato interrupts him with a snort. "Heaven has been looking for an excuse to get rid of me for eons. Makes sense they'd take advantage of me waltzing right into Takamagahara."

Kazuma huffs frustratedly. "Still, if you were to go into hiding-"

"They'll go after Yukine. Or Kofuku or Daikoku for housing a 'known criminal.' Hell, they might even try to get _Hiyori_ to pull me back out. No, I can't let anyone else get dragged into this."

It's like Yato's words physically wound Kazuma; the _hafuri_ visibly crumples. He takes a deep breath, eyes wet, and extends his hand. "The execution is at dawn. Heaven's guard will come for you then. Goodbye, Yato."

Yato stares at Kazuma's outstretched hand and the finality of the gesture nearly shatters him. "Goodbye, Kazuma. May you protect Bishamon for many centuries. And," he whispers, voice breaking for the first time, "Hiyori and Yukine, too."

Kazuma's hand is firm around his. "Of course. You have my word."

With nothing more to say, Bishamon's guidepost leaves Yato alone with his thoughts. The moment Kazuma is gone, Yato lets the first tear slip from his eyes and collapses to the ground, shuddering with the force of his sobs. It's really, truly over, and between his gasping breaths he lays out a small pallet and a pillow under the tree by Hiyori's room. If he's going to spend his last night anywhere, it's going to be near her.

Later, much later, as the first rays of the sun begin to peek over the horizon and Yato has cried himself into blessed numbness, he reaches for his phone. One more time. He needs to hear her voice just one more time. It's only when he hears ringing in his ear that he realizes he's already dialed her number. Three, four, five rings, and then:

"Hello? Yato..?"

His phone slides onto the pillow next to him, its bright screen seeming dimmer by the minute as the sun rises.

A thousand thoughts swirl through his mind, a thousand ways to say _I love you_ and _I'll miss you_ and _I'm sorry I couldn't stay with you_ , but he can't even manage a single sound. Quiet tears slide down his cheeks as he listens to her breathing on the line before she cuts it, staring at the first sliver of the sun on the horizon.

 _Goodbye, Hiyori._


	5. Haunt Me

A/N: Hello I still love Yatori and intend to write more for them! Life's been nuts with school and having just finished Soul Eater's Big Bang, but take this little tumblr prompt I've been sitting on in the meantime.

* * *

It isn't so much the way he hovers around her like an overanxious hummingbird, questions fast and soft from a mouth that never stops moving - _are you too hot? Want something to eat? Watch out for that crack in the sidewalk, a godde-queen like you shouldn't risk tripping_ \- that makes warmth crackle in her chest and the world seem just a few shades more colorful.

It's the quieter moments when she catches him watching Yukine with eyes bright and full of paternal pride, or sitting alone in the corner of the room sewing another outfit for his growing Capypa doll set, or smiling wide and unguarded as he hoists Ebisu onto his shoulders that make peace bloom in her soul.

Yes, Hiyori thinks, smiling around a mouthful of Daikoku's home cooking at Yato's grossly exaggerated story involving chapstick and thigh highs, this will always be home.

/

He knows she tries to play it cool when their lazy afternoon study dates are broken by an upbeat text tone and a quiet _Sekki_ , but he never misses the flash of worry in her eyes or the stiffness in her parting wave before he's bounding out her window towards the latest _ayakashi_ swarm. But even when they're apart for more than twenty-four hours, be it due to her school schedule or a sudden uptick in business for him, she always makes herself known in sure, memorable ways.

Sometimes it's a little doodle in a bento she shoves at him in a creepy, almost prescient manner right before his phone rings and he has to run off again. Sometimes it's a Twitter message - godoffortune500 hope you have a great day! don't be mean to yukine or i won't make you lunch anymore :c - and sometimes it's the way she stands up for him with a glint in her eye and a fight in her stance when visiting gods titter at his scraggly appearance behind robed hands.

But mostly, it's how she just seems to know when the world is a little too much, his secrets a little too heavy, and laces her fingers through his without a word. She never asks for an explanation, and he's still too scared to offer her one, but the power of her presence is enough to calm the anxiety about their futures for one more night.

Her pulse is steady in his hand as it beats in harmony with his own, and she gives him a small squeeze he takes to mean _I'm here_. A gentle breeze blows through them and he breathes in the earthy lavender of her shampoo, a smell he's begun to associate with a sense of permanence, and says another silent prayer for the forces that brought them together in the first place.


	6. Time Passes Slower Without You

A/N: Listen, this is all because of an angsty comic by tumblr user bbbutterfingers. I had to return the favor.

* * *

You awaken from a deep sleep to a tear-soaked pillow, curled up tighter than that desiccated bumble bee you couldn't stop staring at on the window sill all morning, stomach clenched with the force of your sobs. Gone gone gone, all of it is gone, and you cry harder because you don't know _what_ is gone.

The feeling doesn't go away. It clings to you, coats every thought in _regret regret regret._ You start looking in garbage cans and down dark alleys for it, this thing that is now separate from you, but you give up after the third time you're almost mugged.

Your friends become concerned. _Hey, are you doing all right? What's wrong? Is there anything you want to talk about?_

You don't know how to answer them, so you get better at acting like a normal person. The questions stop.

Time seems to stop, too, bubbles of it oozing onto your shoulders and down your back, gooey fingers parting your lips while it reminds you of every opportunity you've missed and each chance you've wasted.

(Such _waste_ , little girl, such a _waste_ you are)

Everything is heavy, so heavy, and the only place you are weightless is in bed. You're now a master of turning down plans, so good at forming the perfect smile that reaches your eyes and yes, things are fine, let's make plans for next month!

(You don't make plans for next month)

Your family sees nothing you don't want them to see, and this relieves you. You only have so much energy to care about appearances these days. But you can't shake the feeling you're somehow failing them, too.

Your brother comes into your room one night with a puzzled look on his face, doctor hands cradling what looks like a small dollhouse. He says he found it in a drawer but no one else recognizes it, so it must be yours.

You tell him you've never seen it before. He shrugs and tells you to throw it out. But you can't, because something about the desperation in the scratched-out name on its back resonates with you, so you put it next to your bedside and spend the rest of the night not really surprised you still have tears left to spill.

It's been two months. Two months since-what? You're beginning to doubt that you had a _before_ , a time when you weren't always looking for someone who isn't there and a time when you felt like you could join the friends laughing beside you.

The _wrongness_ doesn't leave, and takes on a biting bittersweetness when you see all the happy families that appear wherever you go like earthworms after rain. Their smiles make you homesick, so soft and unafraid, sharing in a kind of love that you know with aching certainty you'll never get to experience.

You had a family, once.

No, no, that's wrong, you _have_ a family, a _good_ family, a loving mama and gentle papa and smart brother and good girls don't think about what it'd be like to step in front of a bus, Hiyori. That doesn't stop you from wondering, though, or counting the seconds you have until you miss your chance after the bus comes to a hissing stop in front of you. It's familiar, somehow, and you cling to the nostalgia with a desperation you're no longer ashamed to acknowledge.

You can't shake the feeling that you're mourning the loss of another life. Were you happy, in the last one? Did you know what it was like to pull someone closer and feel the weight of them around you? Or that glimmer of affection in their eyes when you cooked for them, or the faint heartbeat you could feel holding hands?

The bus doors slide shut, and you gaze at the half of your reflection still visible in the sunset glare. You hope you'll get to know what all of that is like too, someday.

Maybe next time you won't forget.


	7. like so many shattered dreams

**A/N:** Chapter 75 made me emo.

* * *

When you were young, your grandmother told you stories of cruel wizards and daring knights and hope that would beat back the most unlikely odds, if you were only strong enough to fight for it. You grew up wanting to help, to be a _doer_ in your story that you acted out day after day, sometimes as the protagonist working hard for the best grade on the quiz, and sometimes as the background character giving courage to a stranger on the street.

So it was not surprising, really, that you stepped in front of that bus to save a man you didn't know without a second thought. Nor was it surprising that you defied heaven to stand by him, wresting him from the jaws of the underworld and fighting to keep the powers that be from erasing his existence.

What _is_ surprising is how you let him slip away. How you stood there, frozen, while he pressed his shrine into your hands - hands that had bled and cracked and healed to build it - and disappeared. You have trained long enough to know there were at least four holds you could have gotten him into during that time. Four ways to stop him from saying goodbye.

This haunts your every pounding step back to Kofuku's house to raise the alarm. Could have, should have, could have, should have. _Would have_ , but - what? You were too distracted by that pretty mouth? Too terrified of your own feelings to realize what was happening outside yourself? He had looked so resigned, before he let you go.

The search lasts for over a week. You and Yukine team up to scour every known hideout he may have visited on his way to seek his father, every possible nook he may have rested in for more than a moment. Kofuku causes a few minor weather events trying to flush out _ayakashi_ for questioning, but despite all of your efforts, you cannot find him.

Heaven proves to be just as inscrutable. Amaterasu gives you a sad smile and says that Yato's fate is in his own hands, now, and refuses to send aid. You know that crying and violence will not solve anything, but you do both anyway, sobbing until you retch and breaking your knuckles open on the punching bag in your basement.

What you would give, to get one more chance to stop him.

In your dreams, you do. In your dreams, you pull him down onto the pavement where you can bury your face in his neck and clutch him so close that you are overwhelmed by the weight of him in your arms. And in your dreams, he stays.

But dawn is always on the horizon.

Weeks turn to months turn to a year, and though fragile as a matchstick's flame, you still have hope. You think - no, _feel_ \- that he's alive somewhere, and that is enough to get you through your days.

It is also what undoes you, because to hope is to want, and to want is where it goes so very, very wrong.

One day after a particularly grueling set of exams you come home to find Yukine scraped and battered on the floor of your kitchen. You open your mouth to ask him what is going on, but a small figure waddles out from behind the breakfast bar and fixes you with electric blue eyes you have been hoping for so long to see.

"Who's that?" he asks Yukine, who now looks much too old to be the ghost of a fourteen-year-old boy.

After so much time spent making sure you would remember, it never occurs to you that he might be the one to forget.

"Hiyori. That's Hiyori," he answers, voice thick with the agony of reconciling a past and a future that are now irrevocably diverged.

"Hello, Yato," you say. Your throat is tight. He is so small.

He tilts his head. "I'm Ya _boku_ ," he says, emphasizing the last two syllables. "Dunno why everyone tries to call me Yato."

Yukine grimaces and shoots you an apologetic look. "When I found him, the only thing he knew was that his name was Yaboku. I guess that...I guess that 'Yato' didn't make the cut, after he -" He looks away and says no more.

Yato - you refuse to think of him as anything else, no matter what you'll call him to his face - is still looking at you like you're a puzzle, and you cannot bear how achingly familiar the expression is. "Let's get you two up to my room," you say, if only so they will not see your face crumble. This is still what you wanted, you remind yourself. He is still safe and alive.

In your room, you watch as Yato shuffles around poking his head into every corner he can fit his tiny head. After a few moments, Yukine catches your eye and asks, "What now?"

What, indeed. "We protect him and raise him," you say, watching as he gets his hand stuck in your lowest drawer. You think of how his father treated him, and of the chance to redo at least one thing right. "We give him a childhood."

Yukine nods, his face turned away in the hopes you wouldn't see his bright eyes. But you have been holding in your own tears since you walked into your room and realized you would never again get the same Yato knocking on your window late at night; never again plumb the depths of those glowing eyes that seemed so tired but so kind. He even smells different, as if wiping clean his old memories removed some essential part of him that his new body mourns.

You will love him, and it will never be the same.

You bring him to Kofuku's house where Daikoku hides his pain behind a tremulous smile at the tiny god and Kofuku goes as still as the eye of a storm. She makes Yukine bring him up to the attic to get comfortable, and only then does she break upon your shoulder. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," she hiccups between sobs. "He was supposed to come _back_ to us."

And he was, he was, he _was_. But you do not give That Hiyori too much of your time. You only think of her, the Hiyori who stopped him that day he came to return his shrine, late at night when you are alone and Yato is safely tucked in besides Yukine. Only then do you allow yourself to wonder about that other timeline in which you _were_ able to act, in which you were a _doer_ in your own story instead of a side character in someone else's. You hope she is happy, That Hiyori. You hope she tells That Yato how much his mouth and eyes entrance and infuriate her. But most of all, you hope she never has to wonder how it could have all gone so wrong when she cared so, so much and tried so, so hard.

But then, as Tenjin has reminded you, you were only ever human.


End file.
